


You'll Love Me Down

by crown_of_weeds



Category: Glee
Genre: Multi
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2011-05-23
Updated: 2011-05-23
Packaged: 2017-11-15 07:54:28
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,049
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/524938
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/crown_of_weeds/pseuds/crown_of_weeds
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Loving someone down, it turns out, has less to do with sexyfuntimes and more to do with anchoring them. Post-prom fic.</p>
            </blockquote>





	You'll Love Me Down

**Title:** You'll Love Me Down  
 **Rating:** PG?  
 **Characters:** Kurt, Blaine, Brittany, Santana, Mike, Tina, Quinn, drive-by Rachel/Mercedes/Sam.  
 **Summary** : Loving someone down, it turns out, has less to do with sexyfuntimes and more to do with anchoring them. Post-prom fic. 

Kurt weighs the crown ( the crown, not  his crown,  never  his crown) in his hands for a second and then steps past Blaine into the living room and hurls it into the fireplace.

“Did it break?” he whispers.

Blaine lets go of him for the first time since their dance (the bile is coming back up, Kurt thought he got rid of everything in the parking lot) and pads over to the fireplace. 

“Shattered,” he intones.

Kurt feels something slash through him. “Good,” he creaks, going over to kneel beside Blaine. “I don’t know...” Blaine threads their fingers together again and squeezes. “I don’t know what it was expecting.”

*****

  
Brittany doesn’t kiss anyone on her prom night.

*****

  
Santana stares at her phone for a long minute and then deletes the half-formed sext to Puck.

Somewhere along the line, a warm body stopped being enough.

*****

  
Tina cannot and will not regret being unable to take part in the only  real prom cliche. Passing that milestone five months ago had been  awesome , thanks. She regrets nothing; it’s just that even kissing Mike seems spectacularly unfair after tonight.

“We even got a hotel room. This is so  stupid ,” she mutters. 

Mike tugs her close and she buries her forehead into his shoulder. “It’s not stupid at all,” he whispers, kissing her hair.

Tina starts to cry, but her face is too wet for just one person’s tears.

*****

  
Quinn’s face aches from the frozen smile she’s kept trained on Judy since she walked in the door. 

(At least she hadn’t wanted to  talk .)

Quinn is ferociously unsurprised and determinedly content. 

She forgets, though, to turn the lights off when she undresses, and the stretchmarks in the mirror--silver from Lucy, still red from Beth--freeze her, dress around her ankles and hair coming undone, for a horrible minute.

Her skin aches where the air in her room, heavy with perfume, touches it.

****

  
Mike wraps himself around her, legs crossed over his and arms snug and close. He whispers something about  not needing to watch anymore , and Tina thinks maybe they can at least sleep. Every inch of their bodies touching, somehow even through silk and taffeta, warm and infinite, she feels like they’ve narrowly escaped something. 

The adrenaline fades, leaving her hazy and vague, but she remembers wishing she could share the feeling.

“I know,” sighs Mike, voice barely there at all. Sometimes they spend whole weekends together, silent and sharing untold epics. “I know, and I do too. I think...I think we should go to sleep. Tomorrow we can bring them dim sung.”

There’s nothing quite like falling asleep with someone else, but also yourself.

*****

  
Brittany has almost no trouble convincing her mom that she “forgot” to mention that she was going to sleep over at Santana’s post-prom and is only home to change into her pajamas and grab her overnight bag. Ringing the Lopez’s doorbell is the hard part.

The door opens an inch and Brittany sees something dark and heavy held next to Santana’s face. 

“I’m not here to have sex with you,” she explains, “but I’d really like to just sleep in the same bed and breath the same air with you again for a little while. Is that okay?”

Santana pulls the door all the way open. “I’m not going to cry again tonight,” she says firmly, “or ever, if things go according to plan. But I’d really like to...”

Brittany waits.

“I need...”

Brittany closes the door behind her and looks at Santana expectantly.

“I...” Santana closes her eyes.

“Hey, no,” sighs Brittany, smiling as if she can put some happiness into Santana just by rearranging her mouth. “It’s okay. No words tonight.” She wraps her arms around Santana and squeezes until something long and metallic thumps to the floor. “We’ve kind of used ourselves up, I think.”

There’s a watery “yeah,” in there somewhere before Santana squeezes back.

*****

  
Blaine has the wither-all to cover the gilt plastic shards with newspaper and ash before he tries to tug Kurt to the couch, but his legs give out too soon and they’re tangled on the floor, knees and elbows bent and joined, hair re-gelling together and mouths inches away. 

Kurt unbuttons Blaine’s collar and rubs shaking fingers over the bump on his right collarbone. 

“I’m sorry,” he whispers, and it’s too dark and they’re too close for him to see Blaine’s face, so he keeps going. “I’m sorry about this,” and he traces the regrown bone, “and I’m sorry about me and I’m sorry I was stupid and I’m so, so sorry that I want things. I’m sorry that I want them, and I’m sorry for myself that I know better, and I’m sorry for you and me and everyone that I want them anyways, even tonight, even now.” 

He kisses the bump. “I’m just so fucking sorry, Blaine.”

*****

  
Mercedes and Rachel peck Sam goodnight on his cheek, and he falls asleep sandwiched between brother and sister.

(Santana walked straight into the garage when Dave dropped her off and found the spare tire-iron. The grease smudged her dress, but she thought she might sleep better with it under her pillow.)

Quinn still sleeps best sitting up.

*****

  
“Kurt?”

Kurt doesn’t say anything. Doesn’t move. Just keeps his forehead pressed against Blaine’s throat, feeling at least a pulse, and his lips barely there at his collarbone. 

“Kurt. I’m sorry we aren’t allowed to want things. I’m not sorry you, I, we, still do.”

Kurt’s not sure which one of them exhales.

“And I’m not saying...not tonight. Because tonight I mostly just want to hold you, and know that you can still hold me. Because tonight I just want to want to be safe, and I figure...if we can get that, maybe we can figure out how to get the rest.”

They fold in around each other.

“It’s not fair,” sighs Kurt. “It’s not fair at all, and I’ll take it. That’s even less fair.”

Impossibly, they wind even closer.

Somehow, it’s enough to fall asleep to. 


End file.
